


The Return of a Lover's Touch

by moonmoth (greyvvardenfell)



Series: Fictober 2019 [15]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/moonmoth
Summary: Nahara and Portia reunite.
Relationships: Portia Devorak/Nahara
Series: Fictober 2019 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696495
Kudos: 2





	The Return of a Lover's Touch

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fictober prompt: "Yes, I'm aware. Your point?"
> 
> Takes place in the Moth & Raven universe.

The chamberlain bustled into the dining room, their feathered hat bobbing as they turned from side to side. Catching sight of the flash of red hair they sought, they hurried to intercept Portia before she disappeared into the kitchen again. 

“Miss Portia!”

She startled at the sound of her name, her mind clearly elsewhere. The rapidly approaching Masquerade had everyone thinking of things other than their work, not to mention the to-do with the Doctor and his poorly-concealed love affair with the very magician the Countess had hired to pursue him… not that the palace staff were supposed to know about that. And now the Countess’s siblings were already arriving, three of her sisters having sailed into Vesuvia’s harbor barely half an hour ago. They would be in need of the finest welcoming party the city had to offer.

“Miss Portia, Lady Satrinava’s sisters will be needing an escort up to the palace, and—”

Portia’s eyes widened. “They’re here? Already?!”

The chamberlain spread their hands in an automatic gesture of supplication. “My sincerest apologies for tearing you away from your duties, of course, but—”

“Who came?" 

"I beg your pardon?”

“Who was on the boat?” Portia put the tray she had been holding down with a muffled crash and grabbed the chamberlain by the shoulders. “Please, I gotta know!”

“Oh dear, ahm. Their Royal Highnesses, Princesses Nasmira, Navra, and Nahara.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and sagged against their diminutive form. They could almost hear her heart skip a beat. “Oh god,” she breathed, her voice strained. “I’m not ready.”

——

Three sets of finely-crafted shoes struck the salt-crusted boards of the Vesuvian docks, one after the other. Portia hovered in the shadow of the carriage sent to collect them, wringing her hands at the sight of the swinging blonde braid bringing up the rear of the column. Two years had passed since she and Nahara bonded on their journey to the city, but she hadn’t forgotten a moment of their time together: first sparring, then talking, laughing, watching striped spinning porpoises keep pace with the ship, singing along with Mazelinka’s crew when they hurled their pirate shanties against the waves, and finally, the single kiss they shared within sight of Vesuvia’s skyline with a promise that it wouldn’t be the last. And when they reached shore and went their separate ways, despite the reference Nahara had given that led her to find work at the palace, she had heard nothing more.

But those beautiful golden eyes caught hers as soon as the princess and her sisters stepped from the dock onto the paving stones, and Portia felt herself fall into them like not a single moment had passed. 

“You must be Portia! How wonderful to meet you.” The shortest of the three, clad in a salmon-colored pashmina over flowing trousers with hip-length emerald hair, smiled gently. 

Trained by years of service, Portia stepped forward and returned the grin before she finished processing the words. “Oh! Oh, yes! Um…” With another lingering glance at Nahara, she forced herself into the role of ambassador. “Yes, and you’re Princess Nasmira Satrinava! And Princesses Navra and—” she hesitated minutely “—Nahara Satrinava as well. Welcome to Vesuvia! Your sister Countess Nadia sends her kindest regards and deepest sympathies for not being here to meet you in person. There was a… a situation. That needed seeing to.”

Navra and Nasmira exchanged looks. “I’m sure Dia is doing her best,” Nasmira said, joining her hands over her plump stomach. “She always has.”

“And the Masquerade is such a huge undertaking!” Navra’s many bangles jingled as she swept her arms open.

“Nadia is an intelligent woman, known for making good decisions.” Ice flowed down Portia’s throat and pooled in her lungs at the sound of Nahara’s deep, raspy voice, turning to fire when she directed her molten gaze over her again.

She had to speak. “Oh, yeah. Milady’s on top of it. She’s got things so covered, it’s almost like we servants don’t have anything to do!”

Three pairs of raised eyebrows met her words and Portia felt blood rise to her cheeks. “I-I mean…”

“If that is the case,” Nahara interjected, “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind showing some curious travelers the Vesuvian sights?”

Before Portia could leap at the chance, Nasmira clicked her tongue. “Oh, Hara, certainly not. We should clean ourselves up first, at the very least. It wouldn’t do to see the city while we look so unkempt.”

All three of them looked impeccable to Portia. There wasn’t a hair or thread out of place, despite their long journey. 

Nahara scoffed, seeming to agree. “I will decide for myself when to bathe, Mira. I am not a child.”

“Well I, for one, would welcome a nice, cool soak. It’s so much drier here than in Prakra, don’t you think?” Navra placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder, urging her towards the waiting carriage. “Come, then, Mira. We can see the sights tomorrow, perhaps. Can’t we, Portia?”

Portia looked rapidly from sibling to sibling, hope and distress building in the clench of her shoulders as she fully realized the implication of their discussion: she would be alone with Nahara. Nahara had engineered time alone with her. “Of course!” Too brightly, too quickly, she skipped to the door and swung it open. “I’m always happy to show people around." 

Navra had a wide, beaming smile, quite unlike that of her older sister. She shot it over her shoulder as she ushered Nasmira up the folding steps into the carriage, blocking the doorway when she reached the top. "Excellent! We hope to see you back in time for supper, then, my dears. Have a most marvelous time!" 

Portia could have sworn she saw her wink at Nahara before ducking inside the carriage in a whirl of orange and blue. The coachman, at a nod from Portia, urged the paired golden horses into motion and pulled away up the long, curved street leading to the palace. She waved them off, the clatter of hooves and wheels fading into the distance as her awareness of Nahara’s breathing and heat and scent and presence grew to almost unbearable heights.

"Come with me.”

The gentle rasp spoke close to her ear, so often a feature of Portia’s many dreams. She felt almost compelled to obey. “Okay.”

Nahara led the way through the twisting, crowded streets of the dock district, dodging merchants overseeing their freight and sailors spending their precious off-hours betting their pay on card games and knife-throwing contests. They soon reached a relatively pleasant stand of trees, cut off from the din of workers and gambling by several sharp turns along narrow alleyways, and Nahara stopped abruptly, her muscular brown back straight as an arrow.

“Portia.”

The sound of her name in that voice was sweeter than honeysuckle. “Hara. I didn’t think you would…”

She turned her head sharply, catching Portia in her peripheral glare. “That I would return here? To support my sister? To—” Nahara faltered, if only for a moment. “To see you again?”

“I just didn’t know!” Portia took a step forward, holding out her hands in supplication. “I never heard from you. The only news I got was from the Countess, and that was so rare—”

“It was more than I ever heard of you,” said Nahara dryly. Still standing fiercely upright with her back turned, she folded her arms across her chest. “There are not many travelling to Prakra who bring word of Vesuvian servants.”

Realization crashed down on Portia with the weight of the sea itself. “Oh,” she said, the word barely above a whisper. “Oh, Hara, I’m so sorry! I… I wanted to write, or something, but I just. I just, uh.”

“What could have stopped you from writing to me? Please, I insist.”

She hung her head, familiar shame creeping down her spine. “I couldn’t read or write until last year. Milady, uh, your sister Nadia, she taught me.”

Long silence met her confession before Nahara turned around, the lines on her face softened by understanding. “I had hoped you remembered me,” she said quietly, her eyes downcast for the first time.

“Of course I did!” Portia barely held herself back from launching into her arms. “Hara… I haven’t been with anyone, or even looked at anyone else since we…”

“No, nor have I." 

"I think about you so much!”

Nahara nodded. “Every clear evening I find myself looking up into the sky and recalling the nights we spent on the decks of your grandmother’s ship, doing just the same.”

Portia bit her lip, edging closer with her hands clasped tight behind her back to keep herself from reaching out. “And frying fish on top of the forecastle with the ruddersman?”

“Indeed! What was his name?”

“Jopani.” Portia giggled. “He and Maz still get together for cook-offs once a month or so." 

"Your Mazelinka cannot admit when she has been bested, can she?”

Portia dropped her jaw in exaggerated outrage, slapping her hands to her cheeks. “You take that back!”

A cheeky glint flashed through Nahara’s eyes and she leaned back against the nearest tree. “I would never lie to you.” She offered a small, warm smile. “A Neviv pirate, no matter how respectable and strong she may be, will never out-cook a Prakran fisherman.”

“Fisherman-turned-pirate.”

“It is the country of origin, not the career choice, to which I give credit.”

Portia took another step in Nahara’s direction, conscious of the way those stunning golden eyes swept over her from head to toe when she moved. “You got something against Nevivon?”

“Make no mistake,” Nahara said, crossing one ankle over the other as she rested against the tall palm. “I have nothing but the utmost respect for Mazelinka. And… and the other Neviv women I’ve met.”

Her blush crawled up her ears and down onto her chest, staining her pale skin a pretty pink. “They have a hell of a lot of respect for Prakran women, too.”

Nahara’s own face grew red and she coughed and looked away to hide it. “Let us not toy with each other any longer, Portia,” she said after she regained her composure. “I… I think it clear that the feelings we seeded on the crossing have, have…”

“I still like you!” Portia blurted out. “I still want to be with you, and I’m so, so sorry I didn’t say that sooner.”

Nahara held out her hand, willing Portia to take it. When she did, she reeled her in against her chest, pulling her off-balance to fall along her body, supported by the tree behind them. Portia gasped at the sudden contact and peered up into her eyes, fingers seeking grips on Nahara’s well-muscled arms before coming to rest on her waist. 

“As am I,” Nahara murmured. “These years have been long and lonely without you, kitten.”

Portia shuddered in delight and, with another quick bite to the inside of her cheek, pushed herself onto her tiptoes to deliver a sound kiss against Nahara’s full lips. When she tried to break away, she found that strong hands were already holding her in place. Whatever other ideas had been in her head no longer seemed to matter, kneaded to nothing by the return of a lover’s touch.


End file.
